


Annoyances

by dovingbird



Category: The Protomen
Genre: M/M, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-25
Updated: 2014-01-25
Packaged: 2018-01-09 22:39:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1151647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dovingbird/pseuds/dovingbird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The man’s a genius. He really is. But Wily’s going to fucking kill him if he doesn’t cut that shit out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Annoyances

**Author's Note:**

> Written as a prompt response: "You need to keep writing Protoverse things, so I'm going to give you a prompt. How about one that might help both of us a little? Tom and Wily are working on the robots when Tom does something that really gets on Wily's nerves. Like a pet peeve or some strange little habit that Wily can't stand. If you're so inclined, you could make it Tom/Wily (because warped ship OTP. Shhh. You know you love it."

Click.  
  
Clickclickclick.  
  
...  
  
Click.  
  
It was a slow, gradual process, crumpling a piece of paper with next to no sound, but Wily was succeeding. It took him some time to even realize that he was doing it, but there was a slight sting, just a brief euphoric moment of pain, that made him look down at his new paper cut, and that's all it took to show him how he'd just made a half-sketched blueprint almost completely useless.  
  
He paused. He inhaled. He reveled in the silence.  
  
...click.  
  
A screech cracked the air as he shoved his chair back across the hard floor and opened his mouth, but all it took was meeting Tom's wide brown eyes behind thick glasses to choke the words in his throat. "...Albert?"  
  
Wily snapped his mouth shut, ground his teeth for a moment. "...yes?"  
  
"Are you all right?"  
  
He stared accusingly at the black gel pen between Tom's long fingers. The older man's thumb was still poised over the clicking apparatus at the end. _Once more,_ Wily thought, tightening his jaw. _Just one more time, I beg you._ But while Tom was a brilliant man, a genius by most any standards, he was blind to some measure of common sense even without his glasses. There was no way in hell he was going to pick up on that stare, no matter how unsubtle Wily was being. But Wily had been in a good mood today when he first came in today for a variety of reasons, and so he pledged not to let a little thing like this ruin it.  
  
No matter how fucking annoying it was.  
  
He breathed out a quiet sigh, trying to focus his mind again. "...I'm perfectly fine, thank you." He flicked a bit of hair out of his eyes. "Simply felt...the need...to walk."  
  
Tom accepted this readily, as he did most of what Wily said. "Need some pacing to get your mind working?"  
  
Wily stretched his mouth in a wide grin. "Exactly."  
  
He didn't much want to walk. His feet hurt. A bout of insomnia the night before kept him pacing for hours on end, his mind desperately picking things apart - numbers, dimensions, just how he was going to get the funding for these massive television screens - and that meant every step he took in his fine dress shoes sent pinpricks of pain through his whole legs. But Tom was still watching him curiously. Wily inhaled. He paced.  
  
"Can I help you figure anything out?" Tom asked.  
  
Wily shook his head. "No, I...think this is something I need to deal with on my own."  
  
Tom touched the closed pen to his notebook paper, and just as Wily had time to regret his potential mistake Tom spoke again. "Are you sure?" The man nudged his glasses further up the bridge of his nose. "You know how it goes. Talk it out. I don't care; maybe I can help."  
  
Wily flicked his eyes from the notebook to Tom's face and back again, fast as a machine gun. "Really? What you're working on...can wait?"  
  
Tom shrugged. "Just detailing the progress we made with the gear installation."  
  
"On the mine robot prototype?"  
  
"That's the one."  
  
Wily paused beside his desk and leaned into it, fingers sprawling across the surface. "...so you could...run out and grab us some coffee or something." He stared at the pen. "It's been a week of long nights. We might as well be prepared."  
  
Tom tapped his chin with the pen, any sound muffled by his beard. "Y'know, that's a good idea, actually." And then he held the pen to the side, positioned his thumb again. "Just let me finish this sentence-"  
  
Wily was already across the room before Tom had reached the halfway point of that statement, and he threw out his arm like a whip. The second he had Tom's fist in his hand he tried to wrench the pen from his fingers, but Tom was so startled he'd already stood up, was staring at Wily with wide eyes accompanied by a death grip on that damn writing utensil. A few pieces of hair had fallen in Wily's eyes, the gel he used having given up the ghost sometime around the stroke of midnight, and Wily tossed his head with a huff, eyes never moving from Tom's. "Give me the pen, Tom," he murmured.  
  
Tom crinkled his brow, his eyes dancing over Wily's face, before amusement lit his eyes. His lips quirked. "What's wrong with _your_ pen?"  
  
"There's nothing wrong with my pen," Wily hissed, the words tripping out in an impatient flow. "But if you don't give me yours-"  
  
Tom kicked the chair behind him like a mule, but whatever escape he was hoping for was pointless, because Wily just surged forward and slammed Tom's hands into the desk. There were a long few seconds of heavy breathing before Wily even noticed their position - flush against each other, chest-to-chest, his leg shoved between Tom's for better stability - and suddenly the way Tom's eyes swept over his features again had a far more intimate meaning.  
  
Wily licked his lips, lifting his chin, staring down his nose at Tom, because only derision could distract him from the way his skin was starting to buzz. "That pen," he whispered, "is the most fucking annoying thing I've ever heard in my life."  
  
"Take it away, then," Tom murmured back.  
  
Wily took his time checking to see if Tom's grip had loosened. When it did, he slid the pen from the man's fist slowly, feeling a momentary burst of power at the way Tom's breath quietly caught in his chest. Then and only then did he step away, backing up the first two steps before he turned and finished the trek to his own desk.  
  
He opened a drawer and tossed Tom's pen carelessly inside, but the way he almost slammed it closed belied the calmness he was trying to achieve. "If I see you write with anything but a pencil again..." Wily slid his fingers through his hair, smoothing it back into the gelled coiffure he knew and loved. "...that'll happen once more. And this time," he said, turning his head to look over his shoulder, "I won't be so kind."  
  
There was that touch of amusement in Tom's eyes again, and the bearded man smiled as he turned away and sat back down. Wily figured it'd only be a matter of days before the gel pen came out once again. He was strangely anticipatory.


End file.
